You Know How I Know You’re Gay?

No surprises in this little story. My best friend is a lesbian, we have matching tattoos that take a few minutes to explain. And we spent an interesting dinner at my parent’s house listening to my father defend his theory that all Lesbos have tats. Myself, straight, Schu practically a daughter to my dad cried we were laughing so hard. I mean, how gayer could it have gotten, our tattoo is placed appropriately so when we side chest bump they touch.

When Schu accepted her gay-ness, it was about a year and a half after we had become very close friends, and about a year and a half after I had already known she was into the ladies. We went for a “drive” five blocks from our house to the McDonalds parking lot, I assumed we were just getting dollar sundaes, until she pulled into a parking spot, deep heave, and said “Janeo, I need to tell you something.”

I stared at her for a second, “Well yes? I’d like to go in soon.”

“Jane, I’ve figured out who I really am.”

Here’s the pivotal moment of our friendship, do I sympathize her position? Do I tell her I understand what she’s going through? Do I run through the very few girls she could possibly hook up with? Nah, I’ll just talk to her as I always do.

“Schubie, are you gonna go full blown dyke on me?”

She gave me permission to give her all the lesbian jokes and comments I possibly could.  I don’t think I’ve abused it yet…

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